


Blindsided

by Greyias



Series: The Serpent's Den [1]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Angst, F/M, Father/Son Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Possible future tags i haven't thought of yet, Spoilers: Iokath, all of the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-13 02:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11750586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greyias/pseuds/Greyias
Summary: With the apocalypse about to rain down on them, and the rest of the galaxy to follow shortly thereafter, there hadn’t been time for anything close to a proper farewell. There never was with them. (Missing Scenes for the Iokath storyline)





	1. Open Line

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this back in like May, and I’ve decided to go ahead and post it. I’ve got the last part completed (of course), just need to fill in some stuff on the middle for it all to make sense. My writing style makes as much logical sense as a Bioware plot twist.

She had left the line open, or to be more accurate, Theron hadn’t cut it. An audio line and data feed wasn’t much, but it helped him feel a little closer to the action despite the distance between them. With the apocalypse about to rain down on them, and the rest of the galaxy to follow shortly thereafter, there hadn’t been time for anything close to a proper farewell. There never was with them.

Not that they were going to need it.

She was going to save the day, as she always did, and she always would. And he would watch from afar, as he did these days, heart in his throat, trying to ignore the constant stream of “what if” scenarios as well as his own sense of inadequacy. It wasn’t that he resented playing backup to the most amazing woman in the galaxy — old instincts just died hard, and nothing would entirely chase away his need to be on the front lines facing the danger himself.

Even if his talents were better served elsewhere.

He was deep in the bowels of the Iokath mainframe, data streaming through his implants faster than the speed of thought. The whole damn planet was simultaneously a slicer’s dream and worst nightmare — endless pathways of nodes and data, each one revealing another tantalizing layer underneath. An endless, beautifully connected abyss that you’d never climb out of if you didn’t watch your step. 

He was of two minds, the part of him in the mainframe, and his physical tether to the outside world. He was like a particularly annoying gnat, buzzing around the nodes and generally being a digital nuisance and distracting the malevolent presence that Acina had woken up. While he had heard the Commander’s affirmative, as soon as she had sat on the throne in the power core facility, the entire network could sense her. Even digitally she shone like a bright beacon, immediately pulling the attention of the dark and angry presence that he had been trying to stall with petty slicer tricks. 

Distantly he felt the ground outside his digital view shake violently, breaking his concentration. Both of the juggernauts were still in the system, but he was nearly swept away in the endless stream of data. Carefully he pulled himself back, not sure what else he could do at this point. Everything was in her very capable hands now, and the best way he could help was to stay out the way. 

Like usual.

Theron had almost extricated himself from the mainframe entirely when something screamed across his implants — like something in the Iokath systems was crying out in distress. Explosions rocked the ground as the planet was bombarded, nearly drowning out the audio feed from the earpiece as something electronic on the other end sparked and exploded. The grunt of pain was nearly lost to cacophony, but not completely.

It stopped him cold, like a vice tightening around his chest. His attention and concentration on the network was lost, every bit of him focusing on trying to calm the rapid hammering in his chest and he opened his mouth, ready to demand answers. But before he could utter a sound a deep thrum echoed somewhere in the distance before a bright angry beam of light lit up the sky. His implants screamed at him, letting him know that one of the ships in the Eternal Fleet had been hit, just as a familiar voice in his ear gave out the order to open fire.

Theron didn’t need his feed from the fleet to tell him that it was executing the command and destruction rained down from above. The sound of it obliterating worlds was something that still haunted his dreams — it was something that he hadn’t had to hear since the Alliance had taken the Eternal Throne. It sent a cold chill down his spine all the same, even if he knew the that this time it was in an attempt to save lives. The bombardment was striking a location somewhere off in the distance, but the shockwaves from it still rocked the ground, throwing him from his feet. Through the distant sounds of battery, he could have sworn he heard a bellow of rage, but that was probably just his imagination playing tricks on him. 

Theron struggled back to his feet, the ground still rocking with the bombing, barely able to hold on to the datapad in his hand. The bombardment appeared to be working, the power levels from the weapon core dropping rapidly. It looked liked the apocalypse was going to be cancelled. Not that he was complaining. 

His relief was short-lived. Just as the rumbles of the bombardment faded, his ears were filled with an angry electronic buzz and a pain-filled scream that froze Theron’s blood. It was the second time he’d heard a cry like that from someone sitting on a throne, but the previous time had been from the body laying across the room. There had been no time for him to tend to the fallen Empress, and he had been been desperately trying to look anywhere else but the reminder of what could happen to the next person to sit on a throne. The scream cut off with an electric sizzle as if the comm on the far end shorted out.

Theron was already in motion, distant sounds of destruction fading from his awareness, his focus on one thing only.

“Commander, come in—“

It was useless for him to try and use the comm, if it had shorted out on the other end there was no way she would hear him. But the silence in his ear was deafening, and he needed something to drown out the sound of his boots pounding against the pavement and his heart hammering in his ears. Panic tightened around him like a noose pulling taught.

“Please… please say something…”

He was almost outside before the slightly more logical part of his brain broke through his panicked haze and told him there was no way he’d cross the expanse to the super weapon facility on foot in time. He ignored the tiny pessimistic voice whispering that it was probably already too late, and that the dead silence was an indicator of what waited him at his destination.

The silhouette of the powered down Nova Striker greeted him as soon as he got outside. It didn’t occur to him to wonder why it was still there waiting for him, just that the giant walker was possibly the most beautiful thing he had ever seen at that moment in time. Not that he cared about the orange and white color scheme, because of course his father had decked out the Republic’s newest pride and joy with the colors of Havoc Squad. He just shot out a line from his grapple without a thought, clambering up into the cockpit and pushing the engines as fast as he could toward the transport to the superweapon facility, blood still pounding in his ears.

The cleaner droids that didn’t scatter out of his way met with the foot of the Nova Striker. All of the outside forces — Imperial, Republic, and Alliance alike had taken shelter — but the droids didn’t have anything to fear from the superweapon. It was probably not the smartest idea for him to be charging through the open like this before anyone gave an all-clear, but Theron wasn’t exactly _thinking_ at the moment.

The walker’s engines were starting to send out warning signs of overheating just as the superweapon facility came into view. It stomped on one last droid for good measure before Theron powered it down and slid out of the cockpit. He charged through the entrance, nearly tripping on a piece of the destroyed droid on his way there. Fear was dulling his normally powerful survival instincts, but they managed to kick in long enough for him to take a sweeping look at the large open room of the facility.

It was eerily quiet, the only sound the distant crackling of fire left behind from the fleet’s bombardment and the sound of sizzling electronics. He climbed the steps leading up to the control dais two-by-two, quickly taking in the charred overloaded consoles lining the room. The extent of the destruction was too much for a simple malfunction, and looked more like some of his own sabotage work from his SIS days. The inkling of a question started to form, piercing through his haze of panic. Something was off about this whole mess, but that moment of clarity was carried away as soon as he laid eyes on the prone figure crumpled on the floor in front of the throne — and his heart stopped.

“No!” 

He closed the distance between them, sliding the last few feet on his knees as he scooped the small figure from the floor into his arms. Her armor was charred and blackened in spots, and patches of exposed skin showed the boiling and puckering of an electric burn. 

“No no no no no,” he muttered, stripping off a glove and shakily pressing two fingers to the pulse point on her throat. It was thready and faint, but still there. Relief flooded through his veins as his heart started beating again.

“Why do you keep doing this to me?” he asked hoarsely, arms tightening around her unconscious form, briefly bowing his head so that their foreheads barely touched.

His only reply was her shallow, labored breathing. Theron tried to swallow past the lump in his throat, as the mind-numbing panic receded to a more manageable state of heart-pounding worry. He carefully settled her in his lap, trying not to jostle her too much as he pulled out the emergency stash of kolto he always kept on hand. The burns were fairly serious, but it was hard to tell the extent of the damage with the limited equipment he had on hand. He smeared the kolto across the worst of them as gently as he could, but she still seemed to flinch some as the gel touched the wounds. It would take a few minutes for the anesthetic in the kolto to kick in and relieve some of the pain.

“Sorry,” he whispered, “just trying to help.”

He didn’t expect a reply, but talking seemed to help keep him distracted from the swirl of negative thoughts trying to sneak back in. He didn’t have time to indulge those, and instead searched the pockets inside his jacket, finding the sterile bandage pack he kept there. He never carried much in the way of first aid supplies, but was starting to think he needed to fix that. At the rate things were going he needed a rolling medical bay and a lifetime supply of hair dye to cover up the gray hairs this woman was giving him on almost a daily basis.

As gently as possible he finished dressing and bandaging the worst of the wounds he could find, but there was no way to know the extent of her injuries without getting her to a medbay. The closest one he knew of was back at the Alliance camp, granted they had weathered the superweapon attack. He started to key his comm to Lana, when he realized that he had never disconnected the previous signal. He killed the dead connection, before quickly dialing in her frequency, waiting several long moments before hearing a chirp on the other end.

“Theron,” Lana answered crisply, “there you are. I’ve been trying to raise you for fifteen minutes—“

“Sorry,” he said brusquely, “I had forgotten to… never mind. I’m here now. I take it you all survived things on your end?”

“We did,” she said succinctly, “it appears that the Fleet was successful in disabling the superweapon. I was starting to get worried after I couldn’t raise you or the Commander.”

“Something happened over here.” He brushed his fingers through blonde bangs, digits tangling through the sweat soaked hair. “I can’t tell what exactly, but every console has overloaded.”

“I didn’t realize that you had accompanied her to the facility.” There was an undercurrent of accusation to Lana’s words.

“I made a side trip after the fireworks stopped,” he snapped. “Can you make sure a medbay is on standby?”

Lana’s brusque tone quietened. “How bad is it?”

He let the fingers tangling through her bangs rest on the Jedi's forehead, heart lurching at the clammy skin meeting his touch. “I don’t know. Bad… I think.”

“I can send someone there—“

“It’ll be faster for us to come to you,” he said firmly. “But we should have a team look this place over with a fine tooth comb. Alliance personnel _only_.”

He didn’t want any of Malcom’s people touching anything without him or Lana’s strict supervision. 

“What are you saying?”

“I think you were right earlier,” he growled, “someone has been playing us. This isn’t what happened with Acina — this is sabotage.”

Lana was quiet for a few moments, but when she spoke next her voice was tight and controlled, and those who knew her well could hear the suppressed rage threatening to boil to the surface. “I will have a crew there shortly. Will you need an escort to get the Commander back here safely?”

“I have a ride,” he returned tightly. “We’ll see you soon.”

He cut the line, and let his gaze drop to the unconscious woman in his lap. His slapdash first aid work stood out from her pale face, but it was better than staring at the alternative. Her brow scrunched up, but whether it was in pain or something else he couldn’t tell. He pressed his lips together, gently running a hand along her jaw, fingers barely ghosting over where the bandages covered the worst of the burns.

“This is probably going to hurt a little,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

She remained silent, which was to be expected, but he wouldn’t have minded one bit if she decided to take that moment to open her eyes and make some remark about him fretting needlessly. Gingerly he adjusted his grip so that he had one arm looped under her knees, cradled her head with the other, and pushed himself to his feet. From the screaming muscles in his lower back, he had a feeling he may have pulled something. That was a problem for his future self, as right now he had enough to worry about with the woman in his arms. The rough movement had apparently jostled her injuries, as she let out a soft cry and attempted to curl in on herself.

“It’s okay,” he murmured absently, “I’ve got you.”

There was no way she could have heard or understood him, clearly still lost in unconsciousness. But still she quietened, even though he felt another tremor of pain roll through her. Her fingers found the shell of his jacket, gripping it tightly as if it were a lifeline as her face buried into the worn red leather. He felt a twinge somewhere deep inside him, a place she only seemed to be able to find without ever needing to look.

A brief, almost overwhelming urge to press his lips against her head nearly overtook him, but his hold on her was too awkward for him to do much more than to pull her a little tighter against him. He tried to ignore the tight feeling in his chest, as well as the sudden lump in his throat that made it hard to swallow as he carefully made his way towards the stairs.

He wanted to get them out of this damn place as fast as possible, the lingering sizzle of destroyed electronics and her occasional muffled unconscious whimper reminding him how close they had cut it this time. But as he looked at the blackened consoles, an odd shape caught his eye this time. He frowned, shuffling closer so he could peer at the blackened electronics.

He’d only had a short time with the consoles in the throne room with Acina, but even with everything charred beyond repair, he could still see the telltale pentagonal shape of an electronic overload charge. An ugly feeling began to rise up inside of him, starting deep in his gut and climbing to his throat, until that curious tightness from a few moments before was completely overtaken by a nearly uncontrollable rage.

It was awkward, ill-advised, and not one of his brighter ideas, but he swung his precious cargo around, one hand holding her tightly while the other blindly reached towards the console and unceremoniously yanked the device from where it had been planted. He pocketed it, and only the soft whimpers of distress cut through the angry haze that had overtaken him.

He murmured another unheard apology, readjusting his grip until she was safely tucked against his chest again. It didn’t chase away his rage, just pushed it below the surface where it simmered as he carefully made his way back down the stairs. The slight weight in his pocket, and the even heavier weight in his arms, reminded him with each step why he needed to hold on to it.

Someone out there was going to answer for this.


	2. Mutterings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should probably mention that I think of Theron not necessarily as an unreliable narrator--but he's definitely a biased one. His internal viewpoint doesn't necessarily always line up with my own feelings on characters.

Slowing down and thinking things through was probably what was really needed at this point — but the mind-numbing panic had only receded, not abated entirely. Had he been reacting a little less, Theron might have seen some wisdom in letting Lana send a medical team that would have stabilized the wounded Jedi’s condition and made the trip back to the Alliance basecamp easier. But he couldn’t do that—that required waiting. Being still. Doing nothing. The more he moved, the less he had time to dwell on what had brought them to this situation — and he _needed_ to do that. But only after she was safe. 

The Nova Striker was a formidable war machine, and it rode like one too. While not a cushy, luxury speeder, it was the safest and fastest way to travel with the cleaner bots still roaming the streets. Those with inferior self-preservation programming met with the wrong end of the walker’s foot, but each heavy stomp jostled the small blonde carefully laid out on the floor of the cramped cockpit.

Theron would slide a glance in her direction whenever she made a sound, hoping to see a pair of blue eyes staring back at him — but she was still out cold. Unconscious, in pain, but _alive_. And that was enough reassurance to keep him focused on the task of getting her to their medics. Unfortunately it wasn’t enough to keep his mind completely occupied.

It was an unending swirl of wondering who was responsible, what he’d missed, and how to keep this from happening again. He briefly thought to ask himself why the Nova Striker had been waiting for him outside, but he had a feeling there was no sinister motive behind that. If he knew his Jedi well enough, she had probably left it there intentionally so that Theron would be able to navigate back to the Alliance basecamp safely if she didn’t come back from sitting on that throne.

Unconsciously he urged the walker to pick up speed, only backing off the throttle when she let out a whimper as the extra velocity rocked the cockpit. That was just like her to forget about the common sense option of needing to _get_ to the facility in one piece in order to stop the apocalypse. She worried far more about him than she needed to at times, and he couldn’t help but wonder if any other recent decisions had been made for his welfare.

Before everything had gone insane and Acina had sat on that throne, he’d caught a lot of glances snuck his way, concern barely concealed behind a thin veneer of Jedi calm. After every conversation with Malcom, Theron had felt the brush of her hand against his — almost as if she had started to reach for him but stopped herself at the last moment. At the time he’d been thankful that there had been too many people around, too much going on for an in-depth conversation on feelings. It was all he could do to be around Jace, who was wanting to be friends again now that they were suddenly back in the Republic’s good graces. Now that he could claim that Theron was a perfect little soldier and somehow worthy of being called son again. It was funny how joining the Alliance was a _good_ thing when politically convenient. 

But now… now he was wondering if he should’ve let that conversation happen. Because as many concerned, worried glances she snuck his way, he’d caught just as many guilty expressions when it came to Acina and the Alliance’s broken partnership with the Sith Empire. As Commander, she’d been forced to make a very heavy decision in a very small amount of time. Those kind of judgements weren’t an uncommon burden of leadership — but this one seemed different. And Theron couldn’t put his finger on exactly why.

“We make quite the pair, don’t we?” he mused quietly.

“—blinded…” The words were so quiet and muffled, he at first thought she was another soft noise of discomfort. “By duty…”

She was awake. Oh thank the Force. “You have to stop doing this to—”

“Rage… feeds truth.”

He pulled the Nova Striker to a halt, unable to pilot and tend to her at the same time. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Sacrifice… prime…” The words sent a shard of ice through him. “To the gods…”

She tossed on the floor, as if stuck in a nightmare, forcing him to leave his position at the controls entirely so he could still her before she hurt herself. “You’re okay… it’s all right.”

“Traitor,” she continued to mutter, completely oblivious to his presence.

“It’s just me. You’re having a nightmare,” he whispered, trying to hold her still. “I’ve got you.”

But it seemed that she was beyond hearing him. “Betrayed… from the inside…”

A traitor. Someone on the inside. Someone from the _Alliance_.

The weight of the overload charge in his pocket seemed to get ten times heavier all of the sudden. Whoever had slipped that information to the superweapon had brought them here. Had brought them with the intention of bringing the one person who had control of the Eternal Fleet, and who would in theory had be able to sit on another throne just like the one from the Spire. He’d trusted the intel that led their expedition back to Iokath. He’d been the one who had hacked into the mainframe. Had given her the directions to the one place left on the planet that could stop the threat that had been unleashed. Had told her it was safe to sit on that throne.

This was his fault.

Someone had _used_ him. Someone had used _him_ to try and kill _her_.

She had always been the more idealistic out of the two of them, almost to the point of naivety at times. It was as endearing as it was frustrating, and something he had taken upon himself to try and protect her from. He knew the dangers of trusting blindly, and worked to try and mitigate the potential damage that could bring. 

But he’d let himself get too comfortable on Odessen. After they’d finally ended the threat from the ever changing hands of the Eternal Throne, and defeated Valkorion once and for all, things had been good — really good. Galactic-wide uprisings aside, he’d been… happy. He had a group of people he’d come to rely on, actually trusted. Friends. He had someone he loved — who loved him back. For the first time in his life he had actually had a place that he actually felt he could call home. And he’d gotten so swept up in that feeling that he’d let his guard down and forgotten to keep looking over his shoulder.

And it had nearly gotten her killed.

She murmured something else, writhing in his grip and trapped in a nightmare she didn’t seem to be able to escape from.

“Please, you have to wake up,” he whispered, hating how broken he sounded. “Please.”


	3. Decisions

After finally getting back to the Alliance basecamp, and reluctantly letting the medics take her from his arms, he’d had to wait.

Theron hated waiting normally—but this kind of waiting? Was the worst.

He’d had to wait on the medics as they made their examination. Wait as he overheard the muttered prognosis of third degree burns and severe nerve damage. Wait as she drifted through unconsciousness, first in a kolto tank, and then later on a medical bed. Wait hour after hour staring at her unmoving form, holding her hand, listening to her nightmare mutterings until he had to move away before his rising anger made him do something crazy and drastic.

So while he waited, he did the only thing that he could do. He worked. Taking apart every bit of evidence he could find. Checking every millimeter of the overload charge with a trained eye, trying to find some clue to who had done this.

The carefully disassembled shards of the charge lay discarded on the work table he’d claimed, as he’d moved on to trying to decrypt the transmission that Lana had discovered. The algorithm was one of the most complex pieces of coding he had ever seen. He would have been impressed if it hadn’t been used in an attempt to murder the woman he loved.

“Theron—son—maybe you should get some rest.”

He had missed when Jace had made his appearance, bent over a data terminal as he picked apart every single piece of evidence. Theron didn’t bother looking up from his station. “Go away, Malcom.”

“I understand it’s been a trying few days, but you—”

“What are you trying to do?” He finally snapped, taking a moment to swap out programs so that the older man couldn’t see what he was looking at. “What’s your angle here, Malcom?”

“Theron, I’ve got no angle, I’m just concerned about you—”

“Oh, you’re concerned now?” Theron let every ounce of anger he’d been trying to shove away boil to the surface. Not all of it stemmed from the other man, but at the moment he just didn’t care anymore. “Because I seem to remember a certain holocall where you all but called me a terrorist and traitor.”

“I was just _angry_. You were throwing away your career, turning your back on the Republic for this—”

The moment Jace’s gaze had cut away from Theron to the unconscious Jedi, something in him snapped. “You leave her out of this!”

“Will you let me finish talking?”

“We were done talking when you disowned me for doing the right thing!”

“I did not disown you. You are still my son—”

“Oh, so good standing with the grand old Republic is a requirement for that? Good to know.”

“Damn it, Theron, I’m _trying_ here.”

“Don’t bother. The only father I had died years ago. In the Vesla system.”

The imposing figure of the Republic’s Supreme Commander seemed to wilt for a second, like he had been punched in the gut. No more words were exchanged—none were needed—and they silently picked opposite sides of the large room to occupy. A familiar spark of guilt began to rise up, but Theron ignored it. There were more important things than half-hearted reunions that were too little and too late.

So he went back to working. To try and keep his mind off the waiting.

By the time the Alliance’s Commander had finally stirred, Theron had finished as much digging as he could into the sabotage from where they were. He was going to need the full resources of the base on Odessen to really get to the bottom of this. Lana had kept an eye on the Alliance Commander during her fitful sleep, and it was only when he heard her talking softly did he realize that the Jedi was finally waking up.

There was a part of him that had wanted to pull the damn woman back into his arms and tell her to _never_ do that to him again, but it was neither the time nor the place. So again he waited, as they cut straight into the business of what had brought them to Iokath. Of who had tried to use her as some sort of sacrificial lamb to their metal god of death. As she defied all common sense and started making preparations to go take on the Apocalypse Machine again. Because of course nearly dying once wasn’t enough for her.

He waited as Jace came over to congratulate her, and watched the older man like a hawk. Theron didn’t really think that he was the one who had set them up—subterfuge and manipulation weren’t really his father’s style. He was more the blunt instrument of someone else’s political machinations. If he wanted someone dead, the Supreme Commander would just order for them to be blown away from orbit rather than weave some complicated web of intrigue.

He even waited as they planned and discussed next steps — both on disabling the superweapon for good and on Theron and Lana’s investigation (that would _not_ include dragging every raw recruit through the mud, thank you Lord-of-Paranoia Beniko). But as she and Lana started to leave to make contact with the Scions, he finally had reached the end of his ability to wait.

Theron grabbed her by the overly ornate gauntlet—unable to completely ignore the char mark on it that set his gut roiling again—and dragged her over to a darkened corner. Lana seemed to take the unspoken hint and hastily made her departure. A gentle hand laid on his made him realize that perhaps he was holding on just a little too tightly.

“What’s wrong?”

He just looked at her, trying to figure out even where to begin. Her time immersed in the kolto tank had healed the worst of the burns, but the shiny new patches of skin still stood out in stark contrast. He tried to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat, instead glancing down to where she had taken both of his hands between hers.

“Theron,” she said gently, “what’s bothering you?”

The real words he wanted to say kept getting stuck behind that damn lump, and rather than try to choke them out he just asked tersely. “You’re going to be careful, right?”

“Of course I am,” she said quietly. “When am I not?”

He speared her with a look then, as if unable to believe she had actually managed to say that with a straight face. He bit back on that response, because he had already waited long enough, he wasn’t about to get derailed now by a pointless argument. “Look, I can’t stop you, I know that, and I know that if anyone has a chance at beating this thing it’s you.”

“But…?”

“I…” the words got stuck again and he dropped his eyes, unable to look past all of the burn and scorch marks left by the explosion that had nearly killed her. Just as soon as they got off this mechanized death trap of a world he’d spend the next week buffing that armor clean. So he’d never have to look at a physical reminder of this again.

One of her hands gently cupped his jaw, tilting his head back up so that he would look at her. She didn’t bother to hide her concern, brow wrinkled and lips pursed together. He hated seeing that look on her face, and he hated even more being the cause of it. He swallowed once more, managing to force the lump in his throat down enough to form the proper words, but it still came out as a harsh whisper.

“I almost lost you once today—I can’t… seeing you on the floor…”

Her anxious expression softened into something akin to regret as her thumb absently traced his jawline. “I’m sorry I put you through that. You know that wasn’t my intention.”

“I’m going to find whoever did that,” he promised, voice rough, “they’re not going to get a second chance.”

“Theron—”

“You almost _died_ because someone out there is trying to play war games—like the galaxy is some giant game of dejarik! Someone we know! And I didn’t—”

“Theron,” she said more firmly this time, cutting him off as his voice started to rise in volume, “we’re going to find them. Together. We’ll find justice for the lives that were lost because of this.”

“You were almost one of them.”

“But I wasn’t,” she said quietly, “I’m still here.”

“I should have seen this coming,” he insisted, “you and Lana kept trying to point it out. If I had listened instead of—”

“You’re just one man, Theron,” she interrupted, “you can’t see everything.”

“I should have seen _this_.”

She squeezed his hand gently, pulling his focus back to her eyes. “Do you think that I hold you accountable for _any_ of this?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why hold yourself up to an impossible standard?”

Because it wasn’t about that. The unquenchable anger in his gut didn’t really stem from anything he did or didn’t do—it was about what he had almost lost today. Even though it was nearing the two year mark from her rescue from Arcann’s carbonite chamber, those five years without her still sometimes seemed like more than a bad memory. Like this was the dream, and that was still the reality. The close calls brought all of that back to the forefront, no matter how much he tried to push them away.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “you know I’m no good at this sort of thing.”

Her eyes crinkled up with a smile that was a mix of both fondness and a hint of wistful reproach before she pulled him into an embrace. He wrapped his arms around her as she leaned in, head tucked under his chin so her hair tickled at his neck. For just a small moment, he let it all fade away—his anger at being manipulated into this situation, his guilt for not seeing it coming, the super weapon that still threatened everyone, even the traitor who had all led them here in the first place—and he just let the feeling of her wash over him. Her warmth and calm had a way of sweeping over him and carrying everything away.

He hated to have the moment end, but when his eye caught the large imposing figure standing at the large window, he realized he couldn’t let himself get carried away. Reluctantly he pulled away, hating that just the sight of his father had chased away that elusive, fleeting calm that she brought with her wherever she went.

“You still have to save the galaxy,” he said roughly, “don’t let me keep you.”

Perhaps had this been earlier on in their relationship, she might have taken the invitation to leave. But after all they had been through, she had gotten as good at reading between the lines at him. “I’m sensing there’s something else you haven’t mentioned.”

In his long career as an intelligence agent, Theron had taken particular care to keep as many people at arms length as possible. Some had slipped through the cracks, that was inevitable, but as a general rule someone being able to know him well enough to get a read on him was bad business (not to mention dangerous for his health). He’d only begun to appreciate her flair for it after the whole mess with the Revanites — although generally it was quieter moments, like being pulled away from a data terminal if he lost track of time, or having a muffin shoved in his hand when he forgot to eat.

This was not one of those moments, and he felt a flare of irritation at her reading his tension as plainly as she would a book.

“It’s nothing,” he said quietly, carefully choosing a spot behind her to stare at. With her it was easier to mask the truth if he didn’t have to look her in the eye. But apparently she had gotten wise to that particular tactic, because she tilted her head to the side and caught his gaze square-on.

“Theron.” Her voice dropped another level, almost as if she was trying to calm a spooked animal. It might have been insulting if it wasn’t so damn effective. “What is it?”

No matter what they did behind closed doors, some things were still inappropriate for him to ask in front of others. The darkened corner offered the semblance of privacy, but the last thing they needed after everything that happened was someone overhearing him questioning the possibly galaxy altering decision she had made earlier. Still, even such propriety seemed to hold less sway over him under the weight of her concerned gaze.

“I shouldn’t ask,” he whispered so quietly, she probably had to strain to hear, “but I can’t help but wonder… why…”

He trailed off, acutely aware of the absurdity of him asking such a personal question so openly. His gaze slipped from hers, briefly catching the tall silhouette of his father by the window before he returned to look at her. It was a small slip, but telling enough in itself. Her eyes widened ever-so-slightly in understanding, and it was her who looked away this time.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, “I shouldn’t have said anything. You don’t need to—“

“No,” her voice was still quiet, but she grabbed his hand, fingers slightly curling around his, “I want everyone to be able to express themselves.”

“That’s not how the chain of command works,” he reminded her quietly.

“This is not a dictatorship,” she said with a little more conviction, “everyone is allowed to and _should_ have their own opinions.”

He gave her fingers a soft squeeze. “That’s not what I mean. Sometimes the illusion of an undivided front is better, especially with…”

His thoughts immediately returned to the traitor that had put them all in this situation. Her fingers twitched against his, pulling him back before he started to dwell on those dark thoughts. He looked up to her searching expression and he let out a long breath.

“Ask me,” she prompted quietly. “Please.”

“Why’d you choose the Republic?” His voice was barely a whisper, hardly audible to even her ears.

“I didn’t want to,” she said, and when he narrowed an eyebrow, she added, “I didn’t want to _choose_.”

“But you did.”

“Yes,” she swallowed, glancing away, “but it seemed to go against what we were trying to build with the Alliance. Maybe it was arrogant to think we’d be able to bridge the differences between the Empire and Republic and finally find peace when so many had already failed.”

“Do you really think that?”

“I don’t know,” she said quietly, “everything happened so quickly. I haven’t had much time to reflect on my decision.”

Theron noticed that she hadn’t actually answered his question, and instead had deflected with a different answer. He knew exactly where she had learned that sort of tactic, and wondered exactly what other bad habits she had picked up from him. “I always thought you were the more forward thinker out of the two of us.”

“That’s because you shortchange yourself too much.” Her brow furrowed at him ever so slightly in consternation. “But in this case, you are correct. I’m afraid I didn’t weigh both sides as carefully as I should have.”

“It’s obviously not something I’m familiar with, but if you looked to the Force for guidance—“

“Maybe I should have. But I didn’t.” She pursed her lips together, head shaking ever so slightly as her eyes dropped down to their lightly intertwined fingers. It wasn’t often that she was more at a loss for words than him. Her fingers curled around his palm, and slowly she guided it up until his hand rested lightly over her heart. When she lifted her gaze back to look at him, there was a slight shimmer behind her eyes. “I was guided by this.”

“You did serve the Republic for—“

“No, I didn’t choose _them_.” She pressed his hand to her chest for emphasis, as if willing him to understand.

He sucked in a breath, finding it hard to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat. “You… you didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did.” She sounded like she had never been more sure of anything in her life. “I don’t know Malcom as well as you, but… when I did work with him, he didn’t always seem very reasonable when it came to the Empire.”

Theron nodded mutely.

“I know I should have tried harder to find a way to make peace. Make them find common ground instead of choosing, but…” Her eyes dropped to his hand still held against her beating heart. “I couldn’t think. I just kept imagining you being forced into a situation where you’d have to fight him. Where you’d be forced to choose between your father or m…”

She trailed off, not able to finish the sentence. Her fingers loosened from his palm, dropping back down to her side. Instead of letting his hand fall as well, he gently grasped her chin and gave it a soft nudge so she would look back at him. The shimmer in her eyes was still there, and he felt something inside of him break just a little.

“I know that’s no way to run anything,” she whispered. “A proper Jedi wouldn’t make selfish decisions like that.”

“That’s not the definition of selfish.” He forced his suddenly thick tongue to form words.

“I don’t think Lana would agree.”

“She’ll get past it.” He threaded his fingers with hers. “We’re all in this for the long haul.”

“A few years ago, I never thought I’d hear you say that,” she admitted quietly.

“Time has a way of changing things.”

“It does.” An emotion flashed across her expression. Something akin to regret, but more nuanced than that. He couldn’t quite put his finger on the right word. “I would like to say that a few years ago I would have thought more, reacted less.”

“But?”

“Were I in the same position, I think I would have made the same decision,” she said softly, “for the same reason. He’s your _father_ , Theron.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes, you _do_ ,” she gave his fingers a squeeze, “or you wouldn’t be so angry with him.”

His jaw shut with a click and he looked away, glaring silently at the ground. Damn if she wasn’t right about that.

“Whatever happened between you two, he’s still your family.”

He snorted derisively at that, but looked up at her, surprised to see that she was still looking at him with the same soft expression and watery eyes instead of a disapproving gaze at his dismissal of the supposed familial bond between him and Jace.

“It’d be wrong to make you choose between that or me,” she said with conviction. “I would never ask that of you.”

“You never have to ask.” His voice cracked, and he used their intertwined fingers to raise her hand, mimicking her action from before and guiding it to rest on his chest. “I’d follow you to the edge of the galaxy and beyond.”

The shimmer finally broke into a trickle down her cheek, but before he could reach up to wipe it away, she crossed the small distance, pressing herself against him and trapping their hands where they lay against his heart. Her lips found his, and the rest of the world faded away as he kissed her like a man dying of thirst who had finally found an oasis.

Had Theron looked up, he might have noticed that the attention of the tall figure at the window had drifted from the expanse of Iokath over to the darkened corner. Just from observing, it would be impossible to tell what lay behind Jace’s conflicted, wistful expression. It could have just been due to the strained and nearly broken relationship with his son. Or perhaps he was glimpsing a bit of his own history replaying before his eyes, except with different decisions made this time around.

But Theron didn’t notice.

He had already chosen his path in life, and was going to follow it wherever it led.


End file.
